23 January 2010

There was a time when I would have been happy to proclaim my love of the Vampire genre, both in book and film, but the blood that I was fond of gorging on has been tainted by a disease that theatens to once and for all kill off the undead.

The shitty Twilight saga has made a mockery of the nightcrawler, turning him from a savage hunting machine into a mopey teenager and wank fantasy for teenage girls, and perhaps even more worryingly, their middle aged mothers too.

The legend of the Vampire has existed in almost all cultures since the beginning of time, and he's never been a particularlypleasant fellow.

The most famous fictional Vampire is (or at least was before Edward Cullen), Dracula. And although he wasn't he first, Bram Stoker researched European mythology for several years to pull together a template for what I would consider a Vampire to be.

A cold, distant stranger who kills indiscriminately. Coming at night to feed while you sleep, or attacking in a throat ripping frenzy. He has no friends, no lovers. Any acquaintances are merely kept alive long enough to assist with his needs, and his only need is blood, and lots of it.

A monster.

The first iconic film adaptation was the wonderfully atmospheric 'Nosferatu', followed by likes of Universal Studios Bela Lugosi flicks of the 30's. Bela was so mad in the end he insisted in being buried in his cape, believing he really was a Vampire.

The 70's brought us the sometimes campy Hammer movies, but as debonair and suave as Christopher Lee was, he had such a menacing presence that you knew that in a flash his eyes would go red, the teeth would be out, and he could rip your throat out.

It was also in the 70's that the rot started to set in.

Step forward Anne Rice.

Her Vampire Chronicles books took the aristocratic monster of Dracula, and turned him into a tortured soul. We started to see Vampires with emotions rather than just primal urges. They were artists, authors, actors. They were social creatures rather than lonely hunters. They didn't need to drink blood every night, and some wouldn't drink human blood at all, instead making do with animal.

And women loved it. Tall, dark, powerful men who would bite at your neck, but then pull away and crack open a bottle of dog instead. The world of the Vampire was moving from horror to romance...

And now we have Twilight.

Not read the book. Not going to. But in the name of research, and checking that I'm not prejudging harshly, I have seen the first film.

And it sucks. Animals.

Edward Cullen and his merry band of pretty, but tortured souls mooch around the local High School DURING THE DAY, and drink animal blood.

Vampires that don't burst into flames in sunlight, but sparkle like the fairies they are.

I may have not been concentrating, but if Edward is 104 years old, why is he spending his time hanging around a school? He doesn't have to, and ok, Bella is supposed 17, so therefore 'legal', but the freak's 104!

Not quite a paedo, but still seriously fucked up.

And if it is ok, because he's perennially 17 himself, then it what world is it socially acceptable for menopausal women to scream and frig themselves silly every time they see him? Yes, yes, I know middle aged men do it with 17 year old girls, but at least they do it discretely at home on their own, not in a packed cinema.

And now the floodgates have opened. Every other book in the Adult Fiction or Horror section is about romantic vampires.

And where will it stop? Having taken Vampires, are we to see Zombie films where the lead has chiseled features, and has passed over his appetite for human offal with a little bit of foisgras and chicken liver pate on toast?

There is time to change! If you find yourself, or know of anyone who is drifting towards the Shampire genre, re-educate yourself now with these modern classics.

Salems Lot

Not that modern, but marks the point in the 70's where the timeline was broken. Stephen Kings book is genuinely creepy, and the film has some real stand out scenes on what childhood vampires should really look/act like.

30 Days of Night

The book itself is a VERY graphic, beautifully drawn graphic novel.

The Vampires here are ancient, vicious beasts.

One of the coven has the smart idea that the little Alaskan town of Barrow is so far north that come winter, the sun sets and doesn't rise again for 30 days.

The town, cut off from all communication wit the outside world suffer a siege mentality of horrific proportions. In other Vampire films the victims hide and check their watches, waiting for sunrise. These poor fuckers are checking their Calendars.

The films not bad either, and has 'Angel' from Home and Away in it...

Let the Right One In

A little gem from Sweden. Proof that you can add a little romance and feeling into a Vampire story without removing any of the true essence of what a Vampire really is. No spoilers. Seek it out and watch it tonight, You won't regret it.

There are more, but these should get you back on the right track before the bloodline is tainted forever.

Accept no substitutes, when watching Vampire films, insist on on a visual transfusion of the rhesus A +ve stuff.

And if I catch you wearing a 'Team Edward' T-shirt, I'll rip your throat out myself.

13 January 2010

It's not mine. Oh no! This is not one of those 'I've got a friend who....' stories that people tell when they're really talking about themselves., This is most definitely not about me, and despite the fact that this friend has put this out to a group of us on Facebook, just in case he doesn't want it to be completely public, let's call him 'Quentin'.

Earlier this week, 'Quentin' sent this email out to a group of male friends via Facebook.

"Let me tell you all about my terrible nightmare I had. I was rudely awakened at 5am yesterday by some horrific and extremely vivid images.

Let me explain. We (the boys) were all on a drinking sesh on some kind of balcony overlooking a park (bit like Eton Park I suppose).

We all then looked over the balcony to see a naked bloke lying down on the grass with none other than Ali (also naked) squating over him having gay arse sex. It was at this point that I woke up so I don't know what else he was doing?

Now, I am livid that I had this dream for two reasons.

1, I have seen Ali taking it up the bot and enjoying it.

2, After telling (Quentins wife) this story, she called me gay for having the dream?!?!? How is that the case when it was clear that it was Ali getting smashed up the bot?!?!

I would be keen to hear your thoughts?!?!"

I've not anonymised Ali. It's not his fault he was dreamt about, and it also clears him up from being the actual dreamer.

So what do you do when you get an email like that from a old friend?

I'm no expert on dream interpretation, and I'm not about to start sticking "Dream + friend + gay sex" into Google, as I very much doubt I'll get an explanation, but would probably get some very graphic demonstrations of what dear 'Quentin' was storing deep in his subconscious.

Suggestions from those of us that responded included;

"I am confused. From your description of your desired fantasy you have Ali squatting over someone having gay arse sex.

Therefore Ali is clearly the bot-smasher rather than the smashee. And we all know it is better to give than to take.

To summarize - you am gay."

Or-

"O......K....well I've got some things to be getting on with thanks for sharing that with us......I think?"

And-

"I have three suggestions;

a) You want to watch Ali in a wrong sex act

b) You want Ali to bum you

c) You want to sodomise him yourself..

.. and all three while we are all forced to watch you.

I concur with teh honourable Stevo.

You are a friend of Dorothy. She is your very bestest friend.

Gayer." from me.

'Quentin' responded thus;

"I can't believe you are taking sides against me?!?! I am comfortable and happy with my sexuality and I only wish you could have seen Ali's happy face, then you would realise that it is in fact Amis who is the gayer and not I."

So who's right?

Is happily married father of four Ali the bum bandit, and it is only through 'Quentins' special dream powers that we know this?

Or perhaps 'Quentin' is a little bit more in touch with his feminine side than he'd care to admit to .

11 January 2010

The couple of inches of snow that has caused so much chaos and disruption has finally melted, and we can go back to some semblance of normality.

No more wasters unable to get to work because of the particularly isolated drift that landed outside their front door.

No more panic buying at the supermarket.

No more news that is just basically weather, followed by the weather, then more news about the weather.

It's a sad fact that as a country we are woefully unable to cope with a little bit of snow, but even more sad that we can't be bothered to even try.

No sooner had the first flakes settled there were angry faces on the television, Twitter and Facebook as the masses demanded to know where their personal snow plough was to clear the road in front of their house? Why had the council not stockpiled a billion tons of grit? Why weren't they clearing the paths NOW so they could walk to their car safely? Who was going to pay for the extra heating bills?

As shit as Gordon Brown is, even he can't be blamed for the weather, and I know that if he gives you extra benefits they won't go on your heating bills anyway, it'll go on petrol for your chavvy kids mini motorbike that they still seem to be able to drive on the roads and paths even if you can't get off your arse.

It always seem that the people who are most vocal about the councils lack of readiness and response are the ones that pay fuck all towards it anyway.As inconvenient as it is to walk a few miles in the snow to get to work, I'd rather do that than see my council tax double to provide a fleet of gritters and ploughs that get used once every 10 years.

I know there isn't isn't enough manpower to clear all the paths - that's why we did the bit out of our front ourselves.

I saw a woman clearing her drive whilst I walked home the other evening. It looked as if she'd de-iced her car that morning by pouring warm water on it, as you could see a thick sheet of ice that ran down the drive, across the path and pooled on the road. The bit of dropped kerb that broke up the grassy verge leading to her drive was already cleared, and she was now working on the drive itself, but the actual path itself was still like sheet glass.

"Missed a bit" I said cheerily as I teetered on the black ice of her creation.

Nothing like a bit of festive whiteness to raise the community sprit eh?

In fairness she was probably a bit tired and stressed out by not being able to watch Loose Women in peace due to having all six of her (brought up by the taxpayer) mongrel brood at home all day.

Perhaps if the older ones weren't so busy seeing how far you can skid on a mini moto in the snow they could have cleared the paths on the whole street, enabling mum to push the double buggy to the Post Office for lottery tickets rather than make black ice on the path in order to get her car out.

Then we wouldn't need the council to come and spread grit everywhere at the slightest whiff of white.

If they've got any grit left at the end of this cold snap I've got a far better suggestion where they should be spreading it. I've got some nice sharp gravel if It'll help.